FIRST DISTRICT STATION
M STREET SW, WASHINGTON DC
Lopez stood outside the door of Captain Powell’s office and hesitated, her knuckles touching the cheap wood. She could hear the captain talking on his phone and it gave her a moment to reconsider.
Tyrell was going too far, she couldn’t deny that. There were political channels to consider, etiquette to ensure a senator’s compliance with any investigation. Tyrell’s crusade would get Lopez far deeper into the shit than she was prepared to accept, and though she’d struggled with the decision for two hours, it was time to make a stand.
Warring against her determination to avoid a catastrophic black mark against her name was a sense of loyalty to Tyrell. It felt as though she was ratting on a classmate, a stool pigeon butt kissing her way into—
“Are you coming in or are you going to stand there all goddamn day?”
Powell was off the telephone. Lopez opened the door and stepped into his office.
“What is it?” Powell demanded, surrounded by teetering mounds of paperwork.
Lopez took a deep breath.
“Tyrell is headed for Senator Isaiah Black’s offices in the District. He’s looking for help to link a pastor named Kelvin Patterson to the homicides at Potomac Gardens yesterday.”
Lopez expected Powell to spontaneously combust in fury. Instead, the captain leveled her with a somber expression.
“When did he leave?”
“A couple of hours ago, but he doesn’t have an appointment.”
Powell set his pen down.
“Let me take care of it,” he said. “I’ll head down there and have the Capitol Police pick him up before the damned fool can do any more damage.”
A weight lifted from Lopez’s shoulders at the same time as an unfamiliar self-loathing churned deep inside her.
“Tyrell wanted me to run a few checks on some of the leads we were chasing. I’m going to head down to see Larry Pitt and try to figure out what Casey Jeffs might have to do with all of—”
“You’ll do no such thing,” Powell growled, standing up behind his desk and leaning forward with his balled fists resting knuckle-down before him. “You’ve wasted enough time on this.”
“It ain’t right to leave it.”
“It’s not right,” Powell agreed, “but it’s necessary. Tyrell’s crusade’s getting in the way of the department’s work. You’ve done the right thing, Lopez. I don’t want to see your name dragged down with Lucas Tyrell’s charades.”
“He’s onto something,” Lopez said.
“Yes, he is,” Powell admitted, “but we’ve been here before. The guy can’t investigate anything without thinking it’s the work of a secret cabal of nymphomaniac vampire zombies.” Lopez shot him a curious look. “You know what I mean.”
She sighed.
“I’ve worked with him for three years and he’s never been wrong about anything. Sure, he gets big ideas about small fry but what’s the deal with that anyhow? There’s too much about this case that doesn’t fit without the players being somehow connected, and I can’t see the sense in letting it all go just ’cause Tyrell’s going off the range.”
“Off the range?” Powell repeated. “Walking into the Capitol and laying into a senator? Tyrell can’t walk around here thinking he’s DC’s fat-assed answer to Jack Bauer.”
“All the same,” she said, “I think we should keep playing his hand here and see what comes up.”
“And if you come up with nothing?” Powell challenged.
“Then all we’ll have wasted is my unpaid overtime and the world will be safe again.”
Powell sighed, grabbing his jacket and folding it over his arm.
“Just sit back from it for a couple of days then look at it afresh. Christ’s sake, Lopez, your shift ended four hours ago. Take a break, okay?”
“But the links,” Lopez said. “Maybe there’s something else behind all of this and we can—”
“The district attorney isn’t going to start handing out warrants on something as slim as correlating but obscure medical procedures. Look at what happened in Peru, people being murdered for body fat that was sold in Europe for cosmetic surgery purposes. At the same time there’s a black market for spare body parts in Asia and India, but nobody’s suggesting the two are connected.”
“Is anyone suggesting that the two are legal?”
Powell shot her a severe look over his shoulder as he turned and strode from the office.
“Go home. That’s an order, Lopez.”
WADI AL-JOZ
WEST BANK, PALESTINE
AUGUST 26
Ethan sat in silence as Bill Griffiths parked his car near the entrance to a narrow street and glanced in his rearview mirror before climbing out. Ethan followed him to the corner of the street and peered along its length.
At the opposite end of the street stood a warehouse nestled against a small grove of acacia trees that rustled gently in the morning breeze. Outside, two MACE operatives stood in their distinctive black suits and sunglasses.
“That’ll be the one then,” Ethan said quietly.
“It’s one of six buildings used by MACE to store equipment. We were ordered to bring the remains here to be packaged for shipment.” Griffiths looked about nervously. “There could be more of them. Are you sure this is a good idea?”
“It’s the only idea I’ve got left.”
“Fantastic.”
The sound of a car engine behind them caused Ethan to turn in time to see Aaron Luckov’s jeep pull up nearby. The towering Israeli climbed out and Ethan and Griffiths joined him.
“You bring everything we need?” Ethan asked him.
Aaron grinned beneath his beard, leading them to the rear of the jeep and yanking off a canvas cover. Inside lay several weapons, including a sawed-off shotgun, pistols, and two flash-bang grenades. Luckov picked up the sawed-off.
“Gentlemen, meet my good friend, Old Painless.”
Griffiths balked.
“Jesus Christ, who the hell do you think you are? Steve McQueen?”
Ethan grabbed a pistol, checking the mechanism.
“MACE is serious,” he replied evenly. “No sense in handing them the advantage.”
Griffiths looked at the pistol handed to him by Luckov.
“I’m not a soldier,” he said quietly.
“Neither am I,” Luckov replied. “Let’s get this over with.”
Rafael sat silently with his back to the wall of an alley, watching as the three men lifted their weapons from the back of the truck. Griffiths, Warner, and the big Israeli strode off toward a series of low warehouses opposite an apartment block near where Rafael sat.
He looked up at the building, at the vantage points offered by a number of the higher apartments, and settled in to wait. It would, he was sure, not be long before his quarry would arrive, especially now that the fool American was launching his own attack. Now, at last, he was fully prepared.
Quietly, Rafael pulled out his cell phone and dialed a number.
IDF NORTHERN COMMAND (PATZAN)
NEVE YAAKOV, JERUSALEM
General Benjamin Aydan sat in silence for a long moment before speaking.
“He escaped custody?”
The two Knesset Guard soldiers before him nodded, one of them speaking in clipped tones.
“He had help, at least one and probably two vehicles. We lost sight of them after he damaged our vehicle to prevent any pursuit. We were assured that he was considered low risk, sir, and unlikely to cause problems.”
General Aydan rubbed his temples wearily.
“That would not appear to be the case now, gentlemen, wouldn’t you agree?”
The two guards remained silent as General Aydan considered the case of the man before him. A former journalist, he had lost his fiancée to an insurgent abduction in Gaza. Now, he was back in Israel supporting a similarly bereaved American, Rachel Morgan, an individual for whom Aydan held considerable sympathy.
&nb
sp; He was about to pick up his phone when it rang loudly, startling him.
“Aydan.”
“Sir, we’ve just received a call from an anonymous source revealing the whereabouts of Dr. Lucy Morgan.”
Aydan blinked in surprise.
“Veracity?”
“Likely to be genuine, sir. We’ve been unable to trace the cell from which the call was made, but it was from within two hundred meters of the alleged abductee. Sir, the problem is that it’s a privately held compound of Munitions for Advanced Combat Environments, and guarded by their private security forces.”
General Aydan felt his jaw tightening.
“Gather an assault team immediately. Privately held or not, if Dr. Morgan is there, we’re going in to find her, understood?”
The brilliant sun blazing above the Old City had risen far enough to scorch the morning air, flaring up off the stone flags of the military compound as Rachel was led to where a small IDF convoy was preparing to leave.
Lieutenant General Aydan joined her from the other side of the compound.
“We’ve had a tip-off,” Aydan said.
“From whom?”
“We don’t know but it’s evidently somebody who knows a great deal about what MACE has been up to,” Aydan said. “Clearly an insider of some kind and they’re in the West Bank. They’ve told us that Lucy is being held in a warehouse in Wadi al-Joz. You mentioned to Shiloh that Mr. Warner found explosives in the MACE camp in the Negev?”
“They were taken from us,” Rachel said. “IEDs, he called them, encased in a sort of gel.”
“Triacetone triperoxide, or so we’ve been told by the informant,” General Aydan said. “It’s been used by terrorist organizations because it’s extremely difficult to detect, can be formed at room temperature, doesn’t contain nitrogen compounds, and has an explosive force eighty percent greater than TNT.”
“Can you find them?” Rachel asked.
“MACE has a Valkyrie drone that is equipped with infrared sensors,” Aydan said quickly. “Now we know where to look, we can seize the craft and use its abilities.”
“What if Lucy’s there? If her abductors have explosives, they could … use them!” Rachel stammered. “Do we know if she’s alive yet?”
“We don’t know anything yet,” Aydan said.
“Contact the informer,” Rachel said quickly. “Offer me as a trade for Lucy.”
General Aydan looked down at Rachel for a long moment, a new respect in his eyes.
“I won’t let it come to that. Let’s concentrate on finding Lucy.” Aydan gestured to a tall, lean-looking officer who joined them. “This is Lieutenant Jerah Ash. He will be leading your team and will protect you with his life.”
Rachel looked at the officer, who seemed quiet but confident, and the general looked at her seriously.
“Ma’am, where is Ethan Warner?”
“I don’t know,” she said quickly. “He hasn’t made contact since escaping from custody. I don’t know what he’s doing but if this tip-off is correct, then he was right about MACE.”
General Aydan turned to Lieutenant Ash.
“If what I’ve heard about this Warner is true, he’s probably attempting a rescue of his own. Tell your men to watch their fire.”
Aydan hurried away toward a waiting car near the compound entrance. Lieutenant Ash turned with Rachel and clambered up into the troop transporter, taking their seats alongside soldiers loaded down with weapons, radios, and body armor.
“Put this on,” Lieutenant Ash said to her, handing her a heavy blue body-armor kit. “Just in case.”
Rachel complied, and then the vehicles started their engines amid clouds of diesel fumes before pulling out of the compound and turning north toward the West Bank.
WADI AL-JOZ
WEST BANK, PALESTINE
Lucy lay adrift on a sea of delirium when a voice broke through the silence surrounding her.
“It is time.”
A figure moved into view as she opened her eyes, gray eyes gazing down at her and the white hair glowing in the light. The serene expression on that face chilled her even more than the cold surface upon which she lay.
“Sheviz.”
Damon Sheviz mocked her with an excruciatingly compassionate smile and turned to a bank of monitors.
“What happened to you?” she gasped in despair. “You were a scientist, once.”
“I still am,” Sheviz said without looking at her. “And I am on the verge of the greatest breakthrough in the history of mankind.”
Lucy felt horror caressing her senses like lice crawling under her skin.
“You’re a killer, nothing more. Whatever you’re doing, it’s not worth it.”
Sheviz looked at her seriously.
“The return of the Nephilim to the realm of mankind is my only remaining goal.”
“What’s a Nephilim?”
Sheviz’s face twisted into a grimace. “A pity that you understand so little, but don’t worry, everything is about to become crystal clear. I’ll explain what I’m going to do, and how you’re going to help me.”
“I’ll die before helping you,” Lucy spat.
“The process is simple,” Sheviz said as though he had not heard her last retort. “I will anesthesize you and connect you to this heart-bypass machine. I’ll then begin the process of cooling your core temperature down to around ten degrees Celsius before replacing your entire blood volume with a chilled saline solution.”
Damon Sheviz showed her a small test tube as he went on with delight.
“At the point when you are clinically dead, without a heartbeat or brain function, I will insert this fertilized egg into your ovary. With your body in hypothermic suspension, your immune system’s ability to reject foreign tissue will be hindered sufficiently for the egg to take hold on the lining of your uterus.”
Lucy felt a bolt of nausea lodge deep in her throat.
“Whose fertilized egg?”
Sheviz smiled.
“That of a Nephilim, a fallen angel. The specimen that you found will rise once again, cloned by me and carried by you, and God’s kingdom shall return.”
Lucy blinked, unable to comprehend the madness infecting Sheviz’s mind.
“Those remains are of a species not of this Earth,” she said slowly, carefully. “They’re not of an angel, they’re of an extraterrestrial species that—”
“Pah!” Sheviz sneered. “Only someone poisoned by secularism could be so blind to the truth. This, Lucy, is our history becoming our future. Imagine, the blood of God running in the veins of men once more, this godless age of filth and despair eradicated once and for all.”
Lucy lay back on the gurney, shaking her head. As a scientist she had no fear of dying, for there was nothing to fear in the unknown, only something new to be discovered. Blind faith instead feasted upon the bloated carcass of ignorance, gorged itself on fanaticism and dogma, and Sheviz was its ultimate creation.
“So this is what you did to the others?” Lucy uttered, trying to conceal her revulsion.
“No,” Sheviz said. “They gave their lives to span the ages that have passed since Genesis, to overcome the genetic divide between our ancestors and modern man. They made possible this chimeric linking of man and God, so that our holy covenant may be complete.”
Lucy realized that Sheviz’s mind had truly gone, entirely devoid of any sense of responsibility for the deaths that he had caused.
“You’re insane,” she said softly.
“The word of our Lord was spoken in this very land,” Sheviz insisted, “and science has done nothing but endorse the word of God.”
“How’s that?”
“Our common origin with the Nephilim, the children of God, as recorded in our bloodline. Think about it, Lucy: all of this time we have searched for evidence of God, and all of this time it has run in the veins of a lucky few, the descendants of the inhabitants of the Garden of Eden, of Adam and Eve themselves. How else can such pure blood, O
-negative, have appeared without precedent six thousand years ago?”
Lucy spat out a cackling laugh.
“Evolution,” she said in terminal delight. “It’s rare because it’s a line from a common ancestor not diluted by genetic drift and random mutation. There’s nothing godly about it!”
“Evolution by natural selection is impossible,” Sheviz spat. “It is the same as a whirlwind passing through a junkyard and assembling a Boeing 747—pure chance. Design by God is the only alternative.”
Lucy slowly shook her head.
“It’s nothing to do with chance and everything to do with time. You cite your God as the designer of everything because you say complex life can’t exist without a designer, yet who designed your designer? If everything complex that exists requires a designer, then your theory collapses beneath the weight of its own contradictions: it fails miserably because it cannot explain the origin of your designer, who must be complex to have designed everything in the universe in the first place. Your God, by your own definition, cannot exist.”
Sheviz’s eyes flew wide and spittle flew from his lips as he seethed, too lost now in the throes of fervor to speak. He reached across to a table nearby and produced a syringe tipped with a wicked-looking needle.
“Time for you to make history, my dear,” he intoned. “You will help me because if you don’t, then the experiment might fail and you’ll lose your life. For your own sake, Lucy, let’s work together.”
“Like hell,” Lucy muttered.
“We have cloned the blood of a Nephilim, but it has been rejected by all previous subjects, despite their being universal recipients carrying the AB blood group. Why is this?”
Lucy remained silent, staring at the ceiling. Sheviz smiled coldly.
“Allow me to motivate you further,” he said, and held out a photograph above her head.
Lucy gasped as she saw a black-and-white shot of her mother. Sheviz didn’t give her the chance to speak.
“Your mother, my dear, is in the company of my associates. If you do not comply with my demands, perhaps she will become the next subject of these experiments.”
Covenant Page 30
